


A Sliver of Eternity

by Sunsetter



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Age Difference, Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25496299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunsetter/pseuds/Sunsetter
Summary: On the eve of battle, Andromache notices Quynh is missing.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko
Comments: 14
Kudos: 157





	A Sliver of Eternity

Their eyes met across the battlefield.

Even as immortals, Andromache’s first instinct when the last enemy fell was to seek out Quynh. Ostensibly, it was the kind of concern that anyone would show for their battle sister. In truth, there was a sense of relief she felt upon seeing Quynh had suffered no injury, and a feeling of elation in seeing her triumphant-but-tired smile. This time was no different, though as Andromache approached, she saw Quynh lightly tap the side of her neck. Andromache cracked a half-grin, casting a furtive but needless glance around. To anyone that cared to look, the gesture would seem as little more than a crick born of battle fatigue. Andromache knew better. For her it was a reminder ‒ the kind that would make an ingénue blush ‒ of the night before, and the promise of what the nascent sundown would bring.

For now, she lay on the grass by Quynh’s side, placing the axe next to her bow. Though they were tired, it was not enervation that made them loth to interrupt with words the tranquility that settled around them. Andromache had always felt it a rare thing to find someone with whom silence is bereft of unease or discomfort. But she had found someone to share her silence with. And so they lay in quiescence, hands entwined, their hearts beating in concert.

*

The kindling of bonfire was distant, yet it was large enough that Andromache could still feel the warmth upon her skin. By now, it has become a long-time habit to distance herself from those around her. When others roistered, drinking and singing with no thought of tomorrow, she kept to herself. When others shared their stories, she shrouded hers in prevarication. In time she had learned there was little purpose to any of it. Their lives were fragile, no stronger than a trampled autumn leaf. Throughout her whole existence, Andromache had seen countless people fade into nothingness, whether violently so, at the tip of a blade, or withering slowly in the grip of disease. She remembered how profoundly she used to feel the pain of every quietus, when a someone she cared for was taken from her. But that had been in centuries past. Time had inured her to loss of life. She could look upon the men and women around her, knowing tomorrow they might meet their doom, and feel not a sliver of pity. She had ceased to care.

Until Quynh.

Though immortal herself, Andromache felt the need to keep her safe ‒ more so than the secret of their prolonged life would warrant. So it was that she became accustomed to having Quynh by her side, which was why this night had found Andromache a touch more apprehensive than tomorrow’s battle would give her reason to.

Her eyes traveled to and fro, over the sleeping forms neath the trees, the boisterous men and women littered around the flame, and even the distant horizon where she knew their enemy to be. Yet Quynh was nowhere to be found.

Andromache wended her way through the encampment, watching and listening for any clue as to Quynh’s whereabouts. She had not taken her bow, so it was clear she could not be far. Yet it was only when Andromache saw a few of the men return from the lake that a likely solution to this little mystery dawned on her.

She set a path down the gradual slope of the grassy plane, and rather than head for the same place the men had come from, she ventured more to the west, through the trees and shrubbery dotting the coast there. Here, the raucous banter behind her had all but vanished, allowing Andromache to better perceive even the slightest of movement or the faintest of sounds. Her own footsteps ‒ owing to centuries of experience ‒ were just as inaudible. And so it was not hard to hear the relatively close sound of splashing water just beyond. She pried apart the branches in her way, carefully creeping betwixt the verdant foliage lest her presence be detected. She had but a few moments to take in the sight of Quynh bathing before her clandestine approach was rendered otiose.

“And just how did you find me?” Quynh demanded, her voice tinged with annoyance, but jokingly so. A far more interesting question, Andromache would propose, is how she managed to notice Andromache without so much as a glance over her shoulder. Perhaps she was not as silent as she had thought.

Eschewing any further deception, she walked to the water to sit at the edge of the bank.

“I was lured here by your presence,” she said. “Like a moth to a flame.”

Quynh turned with an amused glance, then gliding softly through the water to come just shy of the incline to the shore. Andromache wondered whether she had stopped there on purpose, but whatever the truth, she cursed the moonlight and its reflection upon the surface of the lake for daring to keep Quynh’s subaqueous form concealed from her.

“And the truth?”

“I... assumed that if you had indeed come here, you would want some privacy,” Andromache explained.

“So you merrily decided to intrude on it?” Quynh returned, her eyes slitted in feigned resentment.

“I had to. I was afraid you may have been taken,” Andromache continued, and though her tone was insouciant, the sentiment was not one of dissimulation. The ability to heal all injury did not protect one from other, more horrible fates. And that was something she hoped Quynh would never have to learn.

“Taken?” Quynh repeated, then swam away as if daring Andromache to follow her in. “Oh but I _am_ taken - by a fierce warrior of great renown. You would do well to flee before she comes wandering hither.”

“Is that right?” Andromache chuckled. “Even so, I’m afraid I must stay. The sight before me is far too alluring.”

“Well if you mean to court danger,” Quynh ventured as she swam her way back to the shore, “perhaps it’s only right that I make the peril worthwhile.” She reached the incline and continued forward, her nude form rising out of the moon-lit waters with every step she took.

Lips parted with no small amount of awe, Andromache’s eyes followed the cascading rivulets and incandescent drops that made their way down Quynh’s lissome body ‒ trailing over her conical breasts, the flatness of her stomach to her slender legs ‒ as flawless a being as any water nymph that mortals only dream about. Somewhere between staring hypnotized and forgetting to breathe, Andromache realized Quynh had closed the distance between them. She descended to Andromache’s level, settling between her legs and into her arms. The gentle-but-too-brief press of Quynh’s lips upon hers served adequately to pull her out of the trance-like state.

“This warrior of yours...” she said while tucking a stray stand of hair behind Quynh’s ear. “Tell me about her.”

“She is... remarkably wise, frightfully perceptive, and unusually kind. She is strong-willed, devoted, loyal... and protective ‒ almost to a fault. On the battlefield, she wields an axe with skill that could fell even an immortal. And worst of all? She is _unreasonably beautiful._ ”

“Exaggerated claims, I’m sure. Because I for one...” Andromache trailed off, before flipping Quynh over to the ground, swapping their positions so that she now straddled her thighs. Quynh’s surprised yelp morphed into delighted laughter, her eyes gleaming with wonder as she stared back at Andromache, who continued, “... have little doubt her beauty is vastly overshadowed by yours.” Her eyes drank in Quynh’s supine form, marveling at every part of it. “This look becomes you; bathed in moonlight and so...”

“Wet?” Quynh arched a playful eyebrow.

“I meant to say resplendent, but if _wet_ is your preference,” Andromache said, “that is not something I would object to.” She drew a finger down the valley between Quynh’s breasts, marking a desultory path through the water drops. “Though for my part, you would be no less captivating covered in dirt and grime, as the day I found you.”

“Such shameless praise,” Quynh chided.

“A sin we’re both guilty of.”

Quynh smiled, though her gaze was now drawn by the night sky. Andromache watched the starlight reflected in her eyes, and it was all the more beautiful for it. At length, Quynh’s smile evanesced, as transfixed by the velvet blackness above as she was by the evoked memory. She only broke out of her reverie once Andromache crawled up and over her, until she was within her eyesight. Now looking at Andromache alone, it was clear her genial mood was laced with a kind of sorrow.

“Do you know... when I saw you for the first time, I did not think you were real? Even now...”

Andromache took her hand, entwining their fingers together. “Do I not feel real?”

“You do,” Quynh confirmed, the corner of her mouth quirking back into a smile, “and wonderfully so. But as you know, I put no stock in the verisimilitude of a mere touch.”

“Ah. So you require... _further persuasion?_ ” Andromache ventured, and the knowing gleam in Quynh’s eyes told her as much. She leaned in to place a solitary kiss on Quynh’s clavicle, but then trailed upward with another, and another... In but a few heartbeats, their lips melded together, as Andromache stole a breathless whimper from her. “Is this more believable?”

Quynh hummed in ill-concealed delectation which she quickly tried hiding with words: “Only slightly. I’m afraid far more effort, time and skill would need to be invested to rid me of all doubt.”

“Is that right?” Andromache half-grinned.

“Oh, yes. The mind, you see, is a fickle thing,” she elucidated. “Who’s to say I haven’t perished in that sere wasteland, and that this is not some form of afterlife? It certainly seems more probable than the idea of wandering, immortal, with a goddess at my side.”

“I’m no goddess, Quynh.”

Quynh took her hand, placing a kiss on the back of it. “Were you not worshiped as one?”

“Apotheosis born of unfortunate circumstance. I do have flaws, I assure you,” Andromache jested.

“Venial faults, all,” Quynh persisted. “Nevertheless, you deserved the worship and I mean to continue that sacred tradition.”

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she attempted to flip Andromache back onto the ground, but her goddess was simply too fast. She pinned Quynh’s wrists to the ground, resigning her to captivity she prayed would never end.

“Your devotion is commendable. However, I do believe my wishes must come first,” Andromache insisted.

“Tell me then, what is your wish?” Quynh required, the hunger in her eyes making clear she would comply with any of her desires.

“Granting a reward, I think. What kind of a goddess would I be if I did not repay my faithful for their loyalty and veneration?”

Quynh’s laugh morphed into a gasp when Andromache’s lips met with the delicate column of her neck. Knowing her sensitivity, Andromache placed a brief lick ‒ teasingly so ‒ then traveled further down. She traced a lascivious path of kisses and licks over her skin, between her breasts, and to the flat expanse of her stomach. She lingered there, far more than a merciful goddess should, and Quynh vacillated between begging her to venture lower and demanding it. The latter, Quynh decided, would be too disrespectful. No, her lot was submit to any favor Andromache would choose to grant her, regardless of how infuriatingly slow and teasing it was.

For Andromache’s part, delay was a necessary part of gratification. Yet it was not that which caused her leisurely pace; rather, the satisfaction she found in savoring every part of Quynh’s flawless flesh sometimes caused her to lose sight of her goal. As such, she would on occasion need prompting before continuing on, and the sheer want in Quynh’s voice served perfectly.

“Andromache, please...”

Andromache looked up at her lover’s flushed face, the slick sweat of her brow, the uneven breathing... Eschewing any further torment, she sank to Quynh’s sex, find it as arrestingly pretty as every other bit of her. She drew a few languid licks up her nether lips, relishing the faintest hint of arousal within. Shifting her focus higher, she lavished the sensitive bud at the apex of Quynh’s womanhood. To that Quynh gently shuddered, her hips canting ever so slightly upward to better sate her exigent need. So when Andromache’s tongue parted from her, she whimpered with a hint of displeasure, only to sharply inhale upon feeling it slither inside her.

Within the silence of their surroundings, Quynh could just barely make out the wet sounds emanating from her nexus, of Andromache slaking her thirst at the fountain of Quynh’s essence. She was ravenous in pleasuring her, and yet elegantly so ‒ with skill born of centuries of experience. Lapping up every drop of her nectar, Andromache brought her ever closer to the precipice.

Deeper still her tongue ventured inside Quynh, the ingress of it stoking the seething embers of her arousal. Until now, she had managed to maintain some semblance of composure ‒ or thought so at least ‒ but when Andromache laved her way up to place a few deviously quick licks upon the sensitive nub there, a licentious moan was torn from her throat, and she bit her lower lip far too late to suppress it. There was little doubt Andromache’s lips formed a smug little smirk between the licks; Quynh knew her well enough. However, she said nothing, instead choosing to continue with her ministrations.

Little by little, time lost all meaning for Quynh. She could not say how long it took, but she felt the precipice getting closer. Pleasure coiled inside her, a scintillating force at Andromache’s command. Without realizing it, her hands moved from gripping the grass below to the crown of Andromache’s head, fingers entwined in the desire for her lover to devour her whole. In response to the unspoken plea, Andromache’s own hands slithered underneath Quynh’s thighs, wrapping around to hold her steady through what she knew would follow.

Had she continued so, Quynh might have lasted longer. Instead, Andromache pulled back just enough to gently blow over her sodden sex, then clasping Quynh’s jewel with her lips with a single continuous suckle.

Startled by the sensation, Quynh broke, her mind adrift in soul-destroying ecstasy as her back arched off the ground and her thighs quivered through the violent climax. Her body retreated of its own volition ‒ the pleasure becoming more than she could bear ‒ but Andromache held firm, refusing to cease her work even as a euphony of pleading moans and whimpers implored her to.

When at last she released Quynh, Andromache marveled at her disheveled, climax-flushed state. Her beaming visage, her unfocused gaze ‒ Quynh lay there as if her soul had fled her body and all that remained was pleasure-wracked flesh. Andromache decided to reunite the two.

“Tell me then, “ she invited as she wiped away the slick arousal from her lips and chin, “are you still in doubt?”

Quynh’s eyes fell upon her, before instantly pulling her by the hand to drag her down and claim her lips with an ardent kiss. The libidinous nature of tasting herself on Andromache was almost enough to push her over the precipice again, and their tongues locked in a sultry struggle only exacerbated the feeling. When they parted, Quynh gazed at her with love, lust and gratitude in equal measure.

“No... not in the least.”

Andromache lay beside her, watching as she recovered from the enervating experience. Somewhere beyond, the distant sounds of a psaltery could be heard. Here, only the wind kept their company, and as Andromache regarded her with a watchful eye, Quynh could wish for nothing different. If she was to spent centuries enisled from others, the company of a goddess ‒ even one who abnegated her divinity ‒ would be the most agreeable company.

“I adore the way you take your pleasure,” Andromache spoke, and were her cheeks not already ruddy, Quynh would’ve blushed at the sentiment. “Like watching a flower bloom.”

“Strange that you should say that.”

“Why?”

“Tsk, tsk,” Quynh chided. “So knowledgeable, and yet you do not know the meaning of my name.”

Andromache’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Tell me.”

“No... No, I think not,” Quynh teased with exaggerated arrogance, knowing all too well how vexing it would be for Andromache not to learn this immediately. But the opportunities for her to be the more knowledgeable one were few and far between, and she’ll be damned if she would relinquish it so quickly. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Quynh...”

“It’s for the best, Andromache. After all, if we’re to be bound for all eternity, it wouldn’t do to learn everything there is to know of each other at the very onset.”

“You may be right,” Andromache relented, “and I... I’m glad that...” It may have been a flicker of starlight, but for a fleeting instant, Quynh thought she saw a nascent tear in Andromache’s eye. The next moment it was gone, perchance blinked away. There were certainly no tristful undertone to Andromache’s voice when she continued. “At times I was afraid you would feel imprisoned. By this. By me.”

Quynh reached out to her. “Why would you think that?”

“It is something that was forced upon you. You did not have a choice, Quynh. And if--”

“And if I did have it,” she cut her off, “I would still choose you. Now and forever.”

Andromache’s lips quirked into a reluctant smile, for a moment at a loss of words. But when deities falter, they do not do so for long. “To others, an eternity is little more than abstract nonsense. To us...”

“It is a promise I intend to keep. And I may as well start immediately.”

The playful tone was warning enough: Andromache rose to her feet, retreating away from Quynh as she followed in her footsteps. “Quynh, no. We... I... It is late, we really ought to get at least _some_ sleep.”

“You may sleep after I’m done with you, Andromache of Scythia,” she told resolutely, following her through the nearby copse.

“The others will hear us!”

“Lies,” Quynh smirked. “We both know how quiet you are in carnal matters.”

Having nowhere more to retreat to, Andromache bumped into a large trunk of a tree. Even with the delectable nudity of her lover at hand, she resolved to mount one last token protest.

“Quynh, we cannot have you wading onto the battlefield tomorrow utterly exhausted, worn out and...”

“And I can think of nothing more soporific than the afterglow of pleasure. So you see, Andromache, I do this for you benefit.”

She surged to Andromache, pinning her against the tree and claiming her lips with fervid passion. She licked into her mouth, caressing Andromache’s tongue with her own. Impelled by her devotion and desire in equal measure, Quynh’s hand roamed down the clothing Andromache was not prescient enough to remove. Yet Quynh would find a way, venturing beneath her tunic and to the britches she hastily unfastened. Her fingers found Andromache’s entrance, unsurprised by the wetness that greeted her; after all, Andromache had spent far too much time pleasuring her to be likewise unaffected.

Abandoning the kiss for sheer viewing pleasure, Quynh watched mesmerized the transformation of Andromache’s face: eyes widening and lips parting at the sensation of Quynh’s fingers entering her. As always, Andromache bore the assault with composure, even as a delicious tightness built slowly inside her, and the heel of Quynh’s palm brushed against the hood of her jewel with each motion. It was a battle between them: Andromache feigning being unaffected ‒ almost as a challenge to her lover ‒ as Quynh did her best to expose the lie in the most wanton of manners. More often than not, Andromache lost, if indeed being ravaged by Quynh could be called a loss.

As if to ensure her victory, Quynh attacked her sex with renewed vigor, delving into Andromache’s sodden cove with repeated thrusts. With intermittent kisses and nips of Andromache’s lips, she then licked a path to her ear. Voice silken, she whispered hotly to her, feeding her lust with wanton promises and susurrus obscenities. Andromache could do nothing but submit as Quynh took her against the tree, runnels of sweat trickling down the back of her neck, her tumescent nipples swollen against the offending fabric of her tunic.

She held Quynh closer, clasping her nape and breathing heavily into the crook of her neck. Every stroke into her velvet heat brought her closer, and Andromache couldn’t help feeling a sense of gratitude that Quynh was not prone to teasing, at least not in carnal matters. It took little after that ‒ at a certain point Quynh crooked her finger, pressing against that very spot she knew would cause Andromache to lose herself. Andromache’s sex throbbed in anticipation; she teetered at the edge and then she convulsed, lewd groans torn from gritted teeth as the climax overwhelmed her. She felt herself clamp around Quynh’s now stilled fingers, her inner walls shuddering gently from the surge of wetness inundating Quynh’s hand.

They remained motionless for a while, melded together as Andromache’s arousal slowly deliquesced. Quynh extracted her fingers, and it was with a victorious smirk that she showed Andromache the pearlescent arousal coating her hand ‒ before drawing her tongue down a digit to lick it clean.

Transfixed by the lewd sight, Andromache prayed to the gods above to grant her strength to resist ravaging Quynh anew. “You are... incorrigible, inenarrable, incredible.”

“How she weaves poetry,” Quynh mused, “even in the grip of ecstasy.”

“Hardly poetry,” Andromache returned.

“No? Then tomorrow, after the day is won, you will write me a proper poem.”

“Oh will I?” Andromache arched an eyebrow at her.

“You must. How do you expect to retain my affection if you do not constantly woo me?”

“A fair point,“ she acquiesced, not one to argue with so luculent a demand. ” Though I’m a far better story teller than I am a poet. A tale then: ‘The travels of Andromache of Scythia and the shameless advances of her lusty companion’.”

“How dare you?!” Quynh chortled with amusement, as Andromache grabbed her by the hip and pulled her in for a peck on the lips. It was then that she noticed a mark upon her neck, and a fairly telling one at that. Somewhere in the grip of ecstasy she must’ve sucked a particularly vigorous kiss from Quynh’s skin, which was now adorned by the mark of her lips. Unfortunately, even before her very eyes, it began to fade, as Quynh’s skin healed itself. A small price to pay, never to worry of senescence, and yet...

“A shame,” Andromache breathed out, placing a lenitive kiss there. “I had hoped it would stay.”

“You wish me marked, do you?”

“I want everyone to look upon you and see that you are mine.”

“We need no mark for that,” Quynh said as she gazed up at Andromache, her eyes filled with adoration. “And though tomorrow it will be gone, I will remember it.” She leaned her head on Andromache’s chest, as a gentle hand stroked her sericeous tresses.

After a little while, Andromache remarked it was time for them to return, so she took Quynh by the arm, leading her between the terebinthine trees and toward the encampment. The soft grass yielded to their steps, and as they made their way back, the sounds from the encampment ‒ no less uproarious, even now ‒ grew ever closer. And yet it was not that which drew Quynh’s attention. Casting her gaze askance, she caught sight of a curious expression on Andromache’s visage ‒ like that of ill-suppressed amusement bordering on a laughing bout. They crossed almost half of the way before Andromache deigned to remind her that returning without her clothes might not be the most prudent of ideas.


End file.
